


Glamours That Don't Fade

by WouldItWere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Consent Issues, Embarrassment, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Top Harry Potter, also it all works out, but I felt like I needed to write this, second-hand embarrassment usually makes me cringe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WouldItWere/pseuds/WouldItWere
Summary: Draco can already tell it’s going to be an exhausting night, because he needs to spend hours rewriting mismarked Ministry files with Potter.However, when he arrives at Potter’s home unannounced, he realises that Potter has entirely different plans. And entirely different reasons why it’s going to be an exhausting night.





	Glamours That Don't Fade

Draco trudged down the street, grumbling to himself. For once, why couldn’t he have a night wherein he relaxed and actually did something fun? Went to a pub, maybe read a book for pleasure, who knew? But, oh no, instead he worked late constantly, and on the one night he didn’t have anything scheduled, he had to go all the way over to bloody _Potter_ ’s house and get bloody mismarked _files_ on the human trafficking ring they’d just busted _rewritten_ before morning. Of all the horrible ways to pass the time…

And yes, perhaps it was maybe slightly a little bit true that Draco didn’t _have_ to go to Potter’s house right now. He could owl the bloke and schedule a meeting tomorrow morning, so long as the files landed on Robards’s desk before the man showed up for work. But…well, maybe if Potter had to come into the office any earlier in the morning his hair would be even more of an atrocity than it usually was, and Draco simply would not be able to focus if that were the case. And, besides. Draco did have the time right now.

Potter did not know to expect him, because Draco hadn’t bothered to send him any notice of his imminent visit. As a result, Draco couldn’t Apparate into Potter’s extensive wards, which stretched over the entire block where he lived—a reasonable precaution, Draco supposed, when you were the Wizarding World’s stupid bloody _celebrity_ and all. So now, it was dark and misty outside, and Draco had to walk for a whole block. This night was ridiculous. Draco deliberately catalogued all of these annoyances to himself now, so that he could complain about them to Potter when he arrived. If that meant they had to prolong their meeting, then so be it.

Potter deserved this intrusion tonight, anyway. Last week, Draco had been signing documents transferring a rather large sum of money to the local orphanage for children whose families had died in the war. Draco kept his donations anonymous, hating the idea that people would ask him about his motivations, or give him strange looks, or that the orphanage would reject the money because a former Death Eater sent it, or feel like they had an obligation to _thank him_ for anything.

But then, Potter had barged into Draco’s office out of nowhere, and Draco was so startled Potter would glimpse the documents that he fumbled and spilled ink all over his shirt. Draco made a big show of complaining about the mess, taking his shirt off and cleaning it with extra fuss, to distract Potter from the parchment Draco had been in the middle of signing.

So, he would show up at Potter’s home tonight unannounced, just had Potter had shown up in Draco’s office unannounced, and see how the green-eyed git liked a taste of his own medicine.

As Draco marched along, he suddenly noticed the sound of another person on the street. He looked around. A man, a few years older than him and with what looked like a bad hair-bleaching job, was holding his nose and grumbling to himself.

“Not waterproof…bloody not waterproof…”

“Er, excuse me?” Draco asked with as much politeness as he could muster, when in reality he was adding this encounter onto his mental list of annoyances he had experienced tonight. Potter would never hear the end of it. “Is there a reason you are whining for the whole neighbourhood to hear?”

The man groaned in frustration and dropped his hand. His nose looked almost laughably bizarre, one side smooth and pointy and the other side long and crooked. Draco fought to keep in his giggles.

“Yes, that’s right, it’s ridiculous,” complained the man. “I put on a bit of Glamour Spray and it’s wearing off in this mist! I’m going to be late, and now I have to go and reapply…”

“Well, whatever you’re late for, it probably isn’t that important anyway,” Draco assured him. Draco was barely listening to the man, though; his thoughts were already on the vision of Potter’s front door, a mere hundred paces away. The porch light was even on, as though Potter had known to expect Draco. “I say you forget the whole business. Go off and reapply, and say fuck it to whoever yells at you for being late. Or just don’t go altogether; you seem stressed enough. Merlin knows _I’d_ skive off my engagements tonight if I could.”

The man snorted in agreement. “Honestly, you’re right. This whole thing has been more trouble than it’s worth. I might just go and grab a pint instead.”

“Good on you!” Draco declared. And then, because the sight of Potter’s front door had lifted his spirits so, he grabbed a few Galleons from his pocket and held them out to the man. “Here, grab one on me. I’ll live vicariously through you.”

“Really? Cheers, mate!” the man beamed. His nose morphed further into the ugly, crooked one he clearly possessed underneath the fading Glamour. “I hope you find a way to have fun tonight, too.”

“Not bloody likely,” Draco scoffed. “But, that reminds me, I’d better be off…”

“Right, sure. Well, good night. And thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Draco said, turning away and already forgetting about the incident. He had done whatever it took to end the conversation with the man, and now he could proceed with his night. Or, more precisely, with brutally murdering his night by forced proximity to— _bleh_ —Harry Potter.

He walked up the front steps and knocked on the door—deliberately loudly and incessantly, just to piss Potter off.

Potter opened the door, sporting bare feet on the carpet and smelling like delicious cologne. Upon seeing Draco, Potter’s eyebrows shot up about a mile into the air.

Draco had to force himself to speak so that he could distract himself from ogling Potter in all his t-shirt-and-trackies glory, as it was both pitiful of Draco to find him so attractive and, also, as Draco ogled him far too often at work already. “Hello, Potter,” he announced. “I—”

“ _Wow_ ,” Potter interrupted him, eyes wide. “You look good.”

Draco’s mouth, poised to speak the rest of his well-rehearsed introduction, faltered and forgot how to resume. “Er…I beg your pardon?”

“Merlin, even your voice, too,” Potter breathed. He looked Draco up and down, and Draco immediately blushed, realising that he’d been trudging down a city block in the mist, and was probably dreadfully unkempt. “I must say I’m impressed. You’ve really gone above and beyond.”

Draco had no idea what the point of that comment was, but at least it got him back on track for what he’d been about to say before. “Well, it’s my job to go above and beyond. If I don’t have these files turned in first thing in the morning, the department will have my head. So, if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Right, of course. Please come in,” Potter said, stepping aside and letting Draco enter.

“As much as I hate to interact with you on a daily basis, it would seem that I am forced to spend even more time with you tonight,” Draco went on, lest Potter think for a second that Draco wanted to be here. “Trust those incompetent secretaries to misfile everything. Consequently, and much to my chagrin, I need you to go through them with me and—”

“Mmhmm,” Potter murmured distractedly, closing the door and resealing the various wards on it.

“Excuse me, are you even listening?” Draco scoffed.

“Sorry, yes, I’m listening.” Potter shuffled back over and began to stare at Draco intently.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback. “You are acting incredibly strange tonight, Potter. And while that is certainly nothing new, I think—”

“Yes, Malfoy, talk snarky to me,” Potter whispered. His smile had a strange sort of relish to it that Draco couldn’t begin to understand. “It’s amazing. You’re just as much of a tosser now as always.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” Draco gasped, outraged. “If anyone is the tosser here, it’s you! I am here on official Ministry business. At least try to be professional about it. Here, take the folder—”

“Right, of course. You can insult me but I can’t insult you, is that it?”

“Yes, and that has always been the situation, as I am sure even your idiot self has managed to learn by now. So, if it's not too much trouble for your child-sized brain, we need to start looking over these files.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Potter asked, mouth quirking up in a grin that was far too attractive to be legal.

Except. What a strange thing to say?

“Potter, I have no idea what you're talking about—”

With that, Potter grabbed Draco on either side of the head and kissed him.

Draco gasped. He was fairly certain he squeaked, also. However, he also had no idea if he was capable of breathing at all, so maybe neither thing occurred.

What definitely  _was_  occurring, though, was that Potter was pulling Draco's coat off and throwing it to the floor. And he was smashing their lips together over and over again, moaning into it like it wasn’t murdering Draco seven ways to Sunday.

But there was no way that the kiss was occurring either. Because. _What?_

“ _What_?” Draco managed to demand, finding the tiniest of all slivers of self-control and pulling himself away from the best kiss he had ever had. “What the hell was that? Have you been hexed? If this is a hostage situation, blink twice.”

“Okay, listen,” Potter said, much to Draco’s frustration not blinking. “I know you’re keeping up pretenses and all, but we don’t have much time, so let’s just skip all the protesting stuff and get right on with it, please.”

Whatever Draco had been about to say evaporated from his mind. “Get on with it?” he repeated.

“Yes, on with it,” Potter said, reaching up and yanking off his t-shirt. Draco’s mouth went dry.

 _Fuck_ , Potter was fit underneath his clothes. The sight was so distracting he would have missed Potter’s next words entirely if they had been anything else. As it was, though, he heard the words perfectly. Because Potter said, “I’m going to fuck you, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes snapped up to Potter’s again immediately. “Excuse me?” he demanded. His brain was broken. It was official. He needed to be checked into St. Mungo’s at once.

“I said I’m going to fuck you,” Potter replied, voice dropping about an octave. “Long and slow, gonna make you scream, and beg, and make you come so hard you pass out, and when you wake up I’ll be holding you.”

Draco let out a sound that could be classified as a whimper. Except definitely not, because something nefarious was going on, so he could not succumb. “W-what?” he managed, feeling faint but desperate to hold onto some shred of his sanity.

“Yeah, come on,” Potter said, grabbing Draco’s hand—fuck, Potter had _strong hands_ —and leading him out of the room. “Let’s get you onto a bed.”

Draco was certainly going to die. He had no idea how Potter could expect him to walk on steady legs all the way to a bed, so he didn’t even try not to stumble. Potter and he were holding hands. And, and walking to…

 _No_. Something was going on. Obviously. Draco just needed to collect his wits and figure it out.

Potter opened a door and a bed came into view, and the sight of Potter’s bed shocked Draco into blurting out, “Potter, something is wrong. You have clearly been cursed, or poisoned, or you’re hallucinating, or…”

“I told you, we really don’t have time for this,” Potter said, pulling him farther into the room and closing the door behind them. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’d rather we just get started.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Merlin, _get started…_

 _No. Focus, Draco. Focus_.

“I think something is wrong with you,” Draco insisted. “Let me conduct a few tests to determine where the brain trauma is.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Potter sighed exasperatedly. “If I let you conduct the tests, will you let me fuck you after?”

Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin oh Merlin oh Merlin.

Of course, Draco knew he would never actually go through with it—that he would find the source of Potter’s loss of sanity and immediately get him help. But even though he was only agreeing for the sake of making Potter cooperate, the very act of saying it out loud was going to make Draco’s body temperature rise about eighty degrees. “Yes,” he said, realising that he had been correct in his prediction.

However, the tests found nothing. No spells on Potter, no potions, no brain trauma.

And then, for good measure, Draco made Potter conduct the same tests on him. Despite how utterly impossible such a verdict had to be, Draco was proven sane as well.

So that meant…

Dear Merlin, what _did_ it mean? Certainly something was amiss. There was no way Harry Potter actually wanted to have sex with him. Except, the next thing Draco knew, Potter was picking him up and tossing him onto the bed.

“Potter!” Draco gasped, heart pounding. “I—I feel like there’s something I’m not getting here.”

Potter smirked. “You’ll _get it_ soon, I promise.” And if that innuendo hadn’t been explicit enough, he leaned in and breathed hotly in Draco’s ear, “Let me give it to you, Malfoy.”

Draco panted, unable to control his reactions. It was just…that…Potter was astoundingly fit, okay? He always had been! And Draco had always known it! So now, Potter was here, and he was saying…and he was…well. Of course Draco could barely fucking see straight past his own desperate desire to let Potter have his way with him.

“I…” Draco began.

“Let me,” Potter repeated, reaching up and beginning to unbutton Draco’s shirt. “Come on, Malfoy. Let me fuck you, _please_.”

“Ugh, fuck, yes,” Draco breathed, eyes falling closed. He hardly even noticed he’d said it. He was so far gone he could barely understand anything but Potter’s voice and Potter’s… _oh_ , Potter’s _hands_ …

“ _Yes_ ,” Potter whispered reverently. Perhaps this was his pleased response to Draco’s consent; perhaps it was simply a repetition of Draco’s final word; perhaps it was in fact in reaction to the new skin he’d exposed as he opened Draco’s shirt. Draco didn’t know, nor did he care. “Fuck, I can’t wait to—”

Then there was a pause. Draco held still in anticipation. However, Potter didn’t do anything. When a few more moments passed and nothing happened, Draco apprehensively opened his eyes. He was met with Potter’s amazed expression as he gaped at Draco’s naked torso.

“Is something wrong?” Draco heard himself ask. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to speak. But, he supposed the embarrassment of Potter staring at him like _that_ was enough to force his mouth to form human words.

“I…you have…” Potter began. Slowly, he reached his fingers over and ran them along the scars on Draco’s body. The ones Potter himself had put there back in sixth year. Draco shivered, jerking involuntarily as Potter touched him. He suddenly felt unbelievably awkward (as if this whole thing could have gotten any stranger). At Draco’s movement, Potter’s eyes snapped up to him. “Sorry,” he said, as though yanking himself out of a daze. “I just can’t believe you have those scars.”

“Don’t you dare get emotional on me, Potter,” Draco scoffed. His skin tingled where Potter was still stroking it. He felt vulnerable, exposed. And Potter was staring at his scars and _thinking_ about things, and Draco’s stomach was twisting unpleasantly. “I get it. The scars demonstrate the pinnacle of export spellwork. But please, admire their craftsmanship another time, yeah?”

He’d meant it as a joke, a sarcastic dig at Potter for having almost mortally injured him, but Potter actually nodded. “Right. Okay. Well, let’s get your kit off, I suppose.”

He reached for Draco’s belt unceremoniously to undo it. Draco gasped and batted Potter’s hands away. Addled though his painfully-turned-on mind was, he was slowly remembering that allowing himself to go through with this would be a terrible idea.

“Wait,” he said. Potter groaned loudly. “I’m sure you don’t actually want this,” he insisted, knowing he sounded dreadfully repetitive but also knowing it was necessary. “I can’t let this happen.”

Potter took his hands back and raked one of them through his perpetually catastrophic hair. “I think I have made it perfectly clear exactly how much I want this,” he said. “Are you saying you don’t want this?”

“No, I—” Draco stuttered over his words, scared to admit it. If he admitted it, then no matter what happened, he would have _admitted it._ There would be no going back from having confessed such a thing. “I—I mean I—yeah, I do…”

Potter beamed. “ _Good_. Then, if you have no more objections…”

“I have plenty more!” Draco declared when Potter made another dive at his belt. “Just because I want you doesn’t mean I can allow—”

“I swear to Godric above,” Potter groaned. “ _Incarcerus!_ ”

Draco hadn’t even noticed Potter still had his wand. He deeply regretted this oversight as his arms flew up and attached themselves to the headboard. He yelped in horror. “Potter, let me go!” he demanded. Fuck, this was absolutely not happening. And it was not allowed to be nearly this hot. _Fuck, this was so hot…_

“I appreciate how dedicated you are to keeping up your hating-me persona,” Potter said in a low voice, crawling forward on his knees toward Draco. “But you and I both want it, so I think we can skip all the pretense once and for all. Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long…”

And that shut Draco up. Potter had wanted this? For, quote, “so long”? Why…that was an even bigger confession that the one Draco had given a minute before.

“F…fine…” Draco found himself saying. This was so surreal. He was so turned on he was literally shivering. “You can let me go now.”

“Actually, I kind of love having Draco Malfoy tied up,” Potter admitted with a devilish grin. “I’ve been imagining that for years.”

Draco wanted to be offended. Truly. But he also completely agreed. He had similarly, since almost the very beginning of their lifelong feud, imagined tying Potter up, and doing all sorts of things to Potter while the Gryffindor was bound and helpless.

And then, as the years went by, new fantasies snuck into his head about _Potter_ tying _him_ up and having _his_ wicked way with _Draco_. These fantasies had horrified him, and confused him. And naturally aroused him beyond reason. He’d tried to ignore them.

And now it was actually happening.

His face was definitely bright red now. But, he didn’t say anything else.

Potter grinned again. He leaned up and fastened his mouth to Draco’s bicep, kissing and sucking it hard. Draco gasped, squirming under the pressure, the wet and hot and pleasure and stinging pain. Potter kept sucking until a large spot of Draco’s skin glistened a deep red-quickly-turning-to-purple. Potter admired his handiwork for a few moments before his eyes flicked slightly upward—and then Potter froze again.

For half a second, Draco was confused. But then he pieced together what Potter was looking at, and his stomach turned to ice.

Potter was looking at his Dark Mark.

“You…” Potter whispered, eyes wide behind his glasses. “You have the Mark.”

Draco momentarily couldn’t breathe. He’d known Potter had suspected he had it, but Draco had done everything in his power to keep those suspicions from being confirmed.

“I…” he began, voice cracking. “I…yeah…”

“I can’t believe it,” Potter said. To Draco’s mortification, Potter leaned closer and examined the Mark, tracing his fingers over it slowly. Draco shivered again, hard.

“I didn’t want it,” Draco found himself blurting out. “I hate looking at my skin and seeing it there. _Really_.”

He had no idea why he was trying to defend himself to Potter. Hell, this was sounding much less like a fast-paced and passionate shag and more like a slow and emotional therapy session.

“Right, I’d imagine,” Potter murmured. He was examining the Mark intensely, with the kind of heated focus that had always thrilled Draco when he’d seen it on the Quidditch pitch, or while Potter was fighting his myriad antagonists over the years. (Draco, himself, having been among the myriad antagonists.) “You didn’t have to put it on, you know,” Potter continued. His brows were furrowed. “That takes extra dedication, even for you.”

Draco’s skin burned. He began to feel anger rise up in him. “What can I say? In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, isn’t that right?” he snapped back. “I didn’t have much of a choice, Potter. You of all people should know that.”

Potter ducked his head, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that was insensitive of me.”

“You’re damn right it was.”

Draco glared. Potter’s eyes flicked up to the Mark again. “But, I just…” Potter began, still staring at it with fascination. “How on earth did you even do it? What charm did you use?”

“Charm?” Draco scoffed. It was lucky for Potter that he’d tied Draco up. Otherwise, Draco would definitely have stormed out of the bed by now. “I can assure you it was a fair bit darker magic than a simple _charm_. Honestly, I knew you were dense, but this might be a new low even for you.”

This was exactly what he’d feared all these years. He deliberately wore long sleeves buttoned down to his wrists, even in the summer. He _knew_ people would see the Mark, would stare at it and stare at him and think things and say things…. Of course they would. And of course Potter would, especially. The very idea had filled Draco with intense dread, and here the feared moment was, manifested in real life. “And I’ll have you know,” Draco added acidly, “that I do not appreciate you leering at my Mark like that or asking such invasive questions. It recalls a very traumatic part of my life, and I have been trying to _charm_ it off for years with no success.”

Potter shook his head, tearing his eyes off of Draco’s arm. “Right. Back to Malfoy. I forgot.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to—?”

Potter dove at Draco again and attacked his mouth. The kiss was so thorough that Draco’s toes curled, his mind went fuzzy, and he was fairly certain at one point he even forgot his own name.

Somewhere along the line, though, Potter must have snuck his hand down and finally dealt with Draco’s belt. The next thing Draco knew, there was a split-second warning of slightly colder air around his groin, before Potter’s hand was wrapping around Draco’s cock.

Draco gasped into the kiss, and at that noise, Potter pulled his mouth away. The Auror sat back on his heels and watched his hand slide up and down Draco’s shaft. His eyes glinted brightly. Draco was going to have an aneurysm.

Potter’s thumb swiped over the head and Draco’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his skull. He may have been making sounds, but he couldn’t be sure, as everything in the world besides Potter’s hand on Draco’s cock had faded away.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” Potter said. And maybe Draco could hear just enough to discern those words, he supposed. How lucky, considering those words of Potter’s would probably fuel his wank fantasies for years to come. “You’re always so beautiful. I can’t believe I get to see you in my bed.”

Draco panted, trying to regain control of himself. It was merely a handjob, after all. Certainly nothing for Draco to have a _fit_ over. Even though the fact that it was Potter was perhaps quite _more_ than enough for Draco to have a fit over. Whatever.

“Are you going to just sit there and admire me?” Draco asked breathily. His hair was already stuck to his forehead—rather ungracefully, he ventured a guess. “Or, are you going to—”

Potter released Draco’s cock and shucked his own clothes at once. “Oh, I am absolutely going to,” he said.

Harry Potter was as much a Gryffindor in the sheets as everywhere else, Draco reflected. One challenging remark thrown his way, and all of a sudden he was pouring everything into it, brash and bold and intense as always.

To Draco’s overwhelmed mind, everything was a blur. Draco was admiring the gorgeous planes of Potter's skin, glistening with sweat and perfection, and the next thing he knew, there was a slick finger probing at Draco's arsehole.

His heart pounded. Potter pushed in, steady and unyielding pressure. It burned, but the smell of Potter’s cologne was everywhere and repeated inhalation made Draco feel high. There was no escape as Potter slid his finger in and out, adding a second and then a third. The ropes around Draco’s wrists were tight. He twisted his hands in them, feeling how they dug into his skin and bound him to this moment, to this bed, under Potter’s body and under Potter’s gaze.

“That’s right,” Potter said, panting. “Love to hear that voice whine for me.”

Draco hadn’t even known he was whining. But, upon closer inspection, that steady stream of whimpers in the air was definitely coming from his mouth. He couldn’t even feel embarrassed. He just felt needy. And on sensory overload.

“Tell me you want this,” Potter said. He crawled up Draco’s body and hovered, chest nearly brushing against Draco’s chest as they breathed. “Wanna hear you say you want me.”

“I—I do,” Draco said. Potter was so close. One arm rested on the pillow next to Draco’s head. The other was down between their groins, presumably holding Potter’s cock and lining it up. “Want you s-so bad, come on.” He felt hot all over. He had never imagined he’d be here, not outside of sex dreams and fantasies that had hurt his heart because they’d never come true. “Please.”

That seemed to do it. Potter sighed, looking immensely contented, and then proceeded to impale Draco with his cock.

Now, Draco was quite aware he was making sounds. But he didn’t much care.

Potter slid in, not stopping the slow and persistent drag until he was fully sheathed, hips pressed snug against Draco and his face looking like he’d just seen God.

“Fuck,” Potter hissed, voice shaking on the breathy exhale. “You feel so good.”

Draco couldn’t speak. He could barely think. He just nodded, making pitiful sounds and knowing he needed Potter to move so badly he might die if Potter didn’t do it soon.

Fortunately, Potter was about as single-minded as Draco at the moment, and upon seeing Draco’s eagerness—confirmation he had adjusted to the stretch of Potter’s cock and was now ready for the actual _movement_ to commence—he began to piston his hips. He pulled back a little, then shoved in again so hard Draco’s head came dangerously close to bumping the backboard. Draco didn’t care. He could smash his head so hard he concussed himself, for all he cared, so long as Potter kept driving his hips in and out like that. And so long as it didn’t knock enough sense in him to wake him up from this fantastic dream.

Potter pounded him relentlessly, the angle of his thrusts changing ever so slightly each time, until suddenly Draco ignited from the inside out. A smile split Potter’s face so brightly it practically made the air around him glow.

He kept thrusting, hitting that spot inside Draco again, making Draco arch his back and try not to sob.

Then, maintaining the angle, Potter slowed down. The drags in and out turned slow, lingering, _torturous_. Draco might have actually sobbed now. He couldn’t tell, though, too lost in the sensations to control what his mouth did. But Potter didn’t speed up again, just continued that maddeningly slow slide, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, pressing firmly against Draco’s prostate and letting the feeling linger. Then doing it all over again.

Potter leaned down, balancing on his elbows on either side of Draco’s head, mouth hot next to Draco’s ear. “You’re so responsive,” he whispered, sounding amazed and overjoyed.

Draco flushed with sudden extra heat, part of him horribly embarrassed by Potter’s assertion. But he also couldn’t stop, couldn’t keep from letting out another string of moans as Potter slammed his hips forward and pressed so insistently on Draco’s prostate he quite literally saw stars.

“Fuck, those sounds are pretty,” Potter went on. He was panting shakily with the effort it probably took not to speed up. But Potter had always been infuriatingly stubborn, and now was certainly no exception. “Always wondered what that voice would sound like while you were fucking. I wonder if proper little Draco Malfoy is a _screamer_.”

Draco certainly felt like he could scream now. One, because Potter was a prat and was making fun of Draco and therefore deserved to be screamed at; two, because Potter was going so slowly and that was dreadfully cruel and unfair; three, because it was _so good_ Draco couldn't handle it; four, because—

Potter slammed his hips in, hard, and Draco he let out the most undignified shriek of pleasure he had ever uttered. Potter let out a happy little moan of his own and bent his head down to mouth wetly against Draco’s neck. “Good, so good,” Potter hissed between kisses. “So fucking pretty. I could listen to you all night.”

Draco wanted Potter to keep going all night, wanted him to keep going _forever_ and never stop. But he also knew he needed to come and would definitely die if Potter kept him on the edge for that long.

“Please,” he begged. Distantly, he was surprised by how deep his voice was, how breathy, how broken. He was even more surprised by the fact he’d managed to say anything at all.

“Of course,” Potter assured him, sliding a hand away from its position on the pillow and dragging it over Draco’s chest. He reached a nipple and pinched so hard Draco’s body gave an involuntary jerk, and Draco let out a strangled sob.

“Gonna give you what you need,” said Potter. “Gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.” He didn’t let go of Draco’s nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, lifting his head to watch Draco’s face with unbridled delight.

Draco pulled on the ropes securing his arms to the headboard. The would not give. They forced him to stay in place, unable to fight Potter’s unrelenting assault, or do anything but moan and arch his back and yank helplessly. Potter kept watching his face, eyes shining, staring while Draco surely looked ridiculous, all red and expression twisted up in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He could even feel tears escaping his eyes, impossible to inhibit.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Potter whispered. He let go of Draco’s nipple and Draco could finally breathe again. He simultaneously realised that he hadn't been breathing before.

Draco tilted his head up, needy and desperate, and Potter granted his wish by ducking down and kissing him.

Their tongues slid over each other, Potter’s soft lips cradling Draco’s and making him wonder whether heaven really were attainable on earth, after all.

Potter’s hand dropped lower, and Draco didn’t notice it right away, until suddenly it was wrapped around his cock and stroking slowly, in time with Potter’s thrusts. Draco let out a reedy whimper and Potter ended the kiss to stare reverently at him.

“Say my name,” Potter said. “My first name. I want to hear you say it when I make you come.”

Draco nodded frantically, willing to do anything for him. “Harry,” he begged, the word rolling off his tongue so easily it felt meant for his mouth. “Harry, _please_. Harry, Harry Harry Harry…”

He kept up his desperate chanting, and Harry beamed, _finally_ beginning to pound into Draco, harder and faster.

Draco was whining between words, unsure how much was actually intelligible at this point, crying and yanking fruitlessly at the ropes and begging Harry to keep going, never to do anything else but keep fucking Draco into oblivion.

Suddenly, his body seized up. He jerked upward, world exploding in lights and colour, and came so spectacularly hard he probably blacked out.

Far away, he felt Harry’s thrusts become desperate and less coordinated, then finally slow down, the glide slicker as he pumped his seed deep into Draco’s body. He collapsed with a sigh onto Draco, and they both lay like that for some time, just breathing and sharing each other’s heat and contentedness.

Then, Harry sat up. He Vanished the bonds on Draco’s wrists and Draco brought his arms down, massaging them absently. He secretly relished the lingering soreness, a reminder of what Harry had done with him.

And then, “All right,” Harry said. “Thanks for tonight. I trust you can see yourself out?”

Draco blinked. His mind was still sluggish from his orgasm, but he felt like Harry’s words definitely were not what he was meant to be saying right now. “What?” he asked stupidly.

Harry redressed, cleaning both of them with a muttered _Scourgify_. Draco couldn’t suppress a shiver at the tingling feeling of Harry’s magic across his skin.

“You can sit here for a while if you need a moment to catch your breath,” Harry said, in that way he always said things when he was being courteous and Golden Boy-y. “But, I’d like to go to sleep soon, so I’d prefer you left sooner rather than later.”

Draco swallowed. He nodded, and reached for his pants and trousers. “So, er…” he began awkwardly as he slid them on. “What happens tomorrow?”

Harry looked at him, eyes somehow much different from how they’d been mere minutes before. “What do you mean, what happens tomorrow?”

“You know. You’re not going to pretend this never happened, are you?”

Yes, the _what-are-we?_ talk was always embarrassing, with everyone. But Harry was not making it easier with the way he was looking at Draco right now.

“Of course I’ll act like it never happened,” he said, and his tone was so bitter Draco felt instantly cold. “Look, tonight was fun, and I truly enjoyed it. So, thank you for all the effort you put in. But I won’t be doing this again.”

Draco’s heart plummeted down so far he was almost surprised it didn’t make a sound as it hit the floor. “Why not?”

“Because, as much as I enjoyed it, I feel _dirty_ , okay? What I did with you, I mean…it’s perverted as hell. I know you feel the same way; you can admit it.”

 _No, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t fucking_ —

“Are you crying?” Harry asked. He sounded slightly horrified. “I, er, please don’t cry. Fuck, I’m sorry I asked for this. This whole thing was a mistake.”

Draco tried desperately to curb his tears. It was undignified and quite honestly pathetic. “Is it—is it the gay thing?” he managed to ask. He’d never thought of Harry as the homophobic type. Not after all the progressiveness and tolerance he was famous for advocating.

“What? No.” Harry sounded surprised by the question. “It’s the Draco Malfoy thing.”

Holy hell. He couldn’t breathe.

He stood up, feeling himself go red. He couldn’t tell whether it was the absolute heartbreak that caused it, or the quickly mounting fury. “You take that back right now, you conceited fucking prick,” he spat. “How do you think Robards will like it when I tell him what you did tonight, huh?”

Harry’s eyes turned suddenly murderous. “If you try to tell anyone about this, no one will believe you. So don’t even bother.”

Draco clenched his fists. He wanted to run home and cry for the rest of his life. But he stood his ground, because he would let Potter know he hated him if it was the last thing he did.

“I hate you,” he informed him, two seconds away from reeling back to punch him in the jaw. “I was actually starting to think, with a cock like that, maybe I could learn to tolerate your personality. But no, you’re every bit as repulsive as you were in school. If you think I’m going to work on any cases with you ever again, you’re so monumentally stupid it’s _laughable_.”

Of course, nothing was laughable at all. Not even when Potter’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse you is right, you bespectacled git! I’ll see you in hell and not a moment sooner. If we’re ever asked to work together again, I will burn the Ministry down myself!”

Potter was staring at him with the most confused expression he had ever seen. And then, “Merlin, are you seriously throwing a fit just so you can stay in _character_?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Draco snapped. He realised he was half-naked, so he yanked on his shirt in a jerky rush, not even caring that his fingers fumbled ridiculously over the buttons.

“Listen, I am way too tired for this. I told you I appreciate the effort, all right? But the show is over. Please leave my home.”

“Gladly!” he all but screeched. “I’m leaving the Dodderson files on your table and you had better finish every single page before Robards comes in tomorrow, or I will not hesitate to trash your office. Merlin knows it would be an improvement to that fucking pigsty anyway!”

He marched toward the door, grateful to be out of Potter’s presence and grateful he’d managed all his comebacks without his voice cracking. But, when he opened the door, it swung back shut and the lock clicked into place.

“ _What_?” Draco snapped, reeling back around.

He turned to find Potter’s wand trained on him, aiming right at his chest.

“How do you know about the Dodderson case,” Potter said, his voice so deep and threatening he didn’t even bother to turn up the end of the sentence to make it a question. “How do you know what my office looks like.”

“Is this some fucking joke?” Draco definitely screeched now. He sorely wished his own weapon weren't in the pocket of the coat Potter had hastily thrown off of him before. “Get that wand away from me at once, you insane bastard!”

“I will ask you one more time.” If it were possible, Potter’s voice got even deeper. “How do you know about the case.”

“Because I fucking solved it with you! And I was prepared to rewrite the whole fucking thing with you tonight if you hadn’t jumped me like a rabid animal!”

Potter stared at him for a moment. And then he shouted, “ _Revelio_!”

Draco flinched as the spell hit him, but nothing happened. “What the—”

“ _Incarcerus_!”

Chains whipped out from the bedposts and wrapped themselves around Draco, yanking him onto the mattress and binding him tightly down. He couldn’t move his arms or legs. Potter really did have a thing for tying Draco up, didn't he?

Potter towered over him, wand trained on him again. “Who are you?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?” If he’d thought he was hallucinating before, it had nothing on his certainty now. “Let me go!”

“If it’s not a spell, then is it a potion? I don’t know how I overlooked the possibility of Polyjuice. I assumed it would be too expensive and hard to come by. But, you know what? Polyjuice wears off. Tell me who you are now and it’ll save us both time and energy, and make me much less furious when I finally arrest you.”

What in Merlin's name was going _on_?

“Do you actually think I’m someone else?” he asked. Obviously Potter didn’t. But what else could Draco say right now?

“All right.” Potter’s eyes were so narrowed they were almost closed. “If you’re Draco Malfoy, what were you doing when I walked in on you in the bathroom sixth year?”

Draco’s heart seized at the reminder of that traumatic event. “Fuck you,” he snapped. “I was crying, you utter shit.”

Potter froze.

“You were what?” he asked. His voice was suddenly much quieter.

“I was crying, and I’ll have you know I very much wish I’d managed to finish that Cruciatus Curse before you sliced me open.”

Potter’s eyes were very round. He wasn’t blinking.

“What did you do to me on the Hogwarts Express after your father was arrested?”

“What the hell, Potter?" Was he determined to make Draco relive every terrible moment of his life? "I paralysed you, broke your nose, and covered you with your invisibility cloak. And I loved every fucking moment of—”

“Holy shit,” Potter cut him off. He was as white as a sheet. Suddenly, he tore out of the room, throwing the door open so hard it banged against the opposite wall.

Alone and unsupervised, Draco resumed his struggle against the chains holding him down. They remained, steadfast and impossible to budge.

Absurdly, he was fairly sure he heard Potter down the hall _placing a Floo call_ , of all things.

“Tippy!” Potter gasped suddenly. Draco’s house elf had evidently answered the call, as he’d asked her to do while he was gone. “I need to speak to Malfoy. It’s an emergency.”

“Master Draco is not being home now, sir,” came Tippy’s high voice in return. “He said he was to be spending the evening with Harry Potter, sir.”

“Why the _fuck_ would he say that?” Potter shrieked. He sounded almost hysterical.

“Tippy is not understanding….”

“I’m—I—but, has anyone suspicious been by the house recently _?_ Has anyone—”

“No, sir, Master Draco is being alone always.” (She didn’t have to be quite so honest, Draco thought, face heating despite the fact that he was definitely not in the mood to care what Potter thought of him right now.) “Sir, if this is not being a business call, Tippy was instructed not to answer. Is this being a business call, or no?”

“It’s—but—” Potter’s breathing was ragged. “I—he said he went to spend the evening with Harry Potter? He actually said that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Holy fuck, holy bloody buggering shit—”

“Tippy is not thinking she should be talking more. Tippy is saying goodbye now, sir.”

“Godric, what the _fuck_ …”

The call disconnected. There was a long pause. Then, Potter came running back into the room. He stared at Draco, looking more terrified than Draco had ever seen the Saviour of the Wizarding World look in his life.

“You’re not actually Draco Malfoy.” He sounded almost pleading.

“To think, I started off this night believing _I_ was the mental one,” Draco said. “Obviously I am Draco Malfoy, same as I was a minute ago, and the minute before that, and the minute before that—”

“But,” Potter said, looking like he was grappling for the edge of a cliff before he would freefall to jagged rocks below. “We just had sex.”

“Yes, I couldn’t help but notice.”

“I tied you up and told you to scream my name while you came. And you let me.”

Draco blushed hard. “What can I say? You were persuasive.”

“No! That wasn’t supposed to—it was supposed to be some random bloke from a club!”

That made Draco pause. “Come again?”

“He was—I—you—you spilled ink on yourself last week and took your shirt off to cast a Cleaning Charm on it! You were shirtless in your office and it was all I could think about for _days_ , and after fantasising about you for years I couldn’t handle it anymore. And then I went to a club and this bloke was hitting on me and I told him I’d fuck him if he made himself look like Draco Malfoy, and he agreed. I probably wasn't going to go through with it! I mean I knew it was fucked up as hell. But when I opened the door tonight to say it was off, I saw you and you looked so good, and so much like the real Draco Malfoy, and I needed—” the words tumbled out of him in a rush, but he looked like he was finally able to clamp his mouth shut before he said anything else. Draco’s mind seemed to have screeched to a halt, too.

He processed these words in the ensuing silence.

At last, he replied, “Does this have to do with the bloke I saw on my way here, with the blond hair and the weird face that was rubbing off in the mist? Whom I sent away?”

“Oh my _gods_ ,” was Potter’s horrified response.

The room was silent again. For an absurdly long time.

Potter spoke again. “Can I Obliviate you? Please? I really don’t think I can survive another few minutes without having a stroke, and I probably—”

“You just told me that shagging Draco Malfoy was perverted!” Draco burst out accusatorily. “You said you felt dirty!”

“No, I’ve wanted you for years, but having sex with a stranger who Charmed himself to look like you is about the most perverted thing a person can do!”

Silence followed once more.

“Please, can I Obliviate you?” Potter asked again. “I promise it won’t hurt. I’ve gotten really good at it. You—”

“Absolutely not. Unchain me.”

“No,” Potter said back, sounding like he genuinely feared for his life. “Fuck, I’m sorry—it—there’s literally nothing I can say to explain this away. But at least I definitely did not mean to force you to have sex with me—I mean, how could—Godric, you told me ‘no’ about ten hundred times, and I—“ He babbled, looking so distressed Draco actually felt _bad_.

Perhaps Potter deserved to squirm, to make up for the terrible things he’d just said to Draco, while he’d thought Draco was someone else.

But he hadn’t meant them the way Draco had interpreted. What he’d actually meant was something quite to the opposite effect entirely.

“Have you seriously fantasised about me for years?” Draco asked.

“Yeah—I—sometimes it’s so bad it’s all I can do not to grab you and snog you up against the wall in the middle of the afternoon. Fuck, but that’s not to say I ever _would_ do that, because I would _never_ want to force—fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t even— _please_ let me Obliviate you—”

“No. I said unchain me.”

“I can’t! Look, you have every right to want to kill me, and honestly I don’t think I’m even opposed to you killing me, but please let me just get my affairs in order first—”

“Do you not remember the part where I said I wanted you?” Draco snapped. That shut Potter up.

Draco continued. “I told you. I said I wanted you so much, but I was scared because I thought you were enchanted to proposition me against your will.”

“Yeah. But instead, I was propositioning you against _your_ will.”

“Fuck, you really are dense, aren’t you? I just said I _wanted_ you. I’ve wanted you my whole life! But I knew you’d never want me back, so I had to settle for pushing your buttons during work and devising as many reasons as I could think of to spend time with you. I even planned tonight, Potter. You don’t think I could’ve rewritten those files on my own? Why would I come over here if I didn’t prefer your company over sitting in my house alone?”

Potter stared at him. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you _do_ know, you complete imbecile. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Now, let me go so that I can snog that terrified look off your face.”

Potter didn’t move.

“ _Or_ , if you insist on being difficult and refuse to release me, at least come over here and snog _me_.”

When still nothing happened, he sighed. “You know, if you promise not to Obliviate me, I think I’d be quite comfortable to stay chained to this bed all night. Your mattress is ever so soft.”  


Potter kept staring at him. He blinked once.

“For fuck’s sake. You’re a lovely human being, okay?” Draco snapped. “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and you’re honest, and you care about people, and you work hard and give your all, even when the people asking for your help don’t deserve it. You’re funny, and even _smart_ , though don’t tell anyone I said that, because I will vehemently deny it. And you’re gorgeous, and spectacular in every way, and the idea that I could have spent years getting to know you and _not_ have fallen in love with you is ridiculous to me. And also impossible. If anything, I should be in utter shock that you would ever consider _me_ , even just to grab and snog up against a wall in the middle of the afternoon. And don’t think I’m _not_ in utter shock over it, because I am. So, please stop acting like you’re a despicable person for accidentally shagging someone who’s been desperate to shag you for as long as he can remember.”

Potter didn’t speak. Draco huffed. If Potter was going to insist on not responding, then Draco was definitely not going to say anything else.

Then, Potter rushed toward the bed so fast Draco almost jumped. He reached out and grabbed Draco’s face with both hands. “You’re in love with me?”

Draco’s heart stopped. He replayed his most recent words back in his head. _Fuck_. “Er. You don’t suppose you’ll let me Obliviate you, do you?”

Potter surged forward, capturing Draco’s mouth with his.

Draco gasped in surprise, but then felt himself melt into the kiss. He’d told Harry he loved him, and Harry still wanted to kiss him. Would wonders never cease?

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered back.

So, no. Apparently, wonders would never cease.

“Tonight was probably the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me," Harry said, detaching their lips and resting their foreheads against each other. "But I can't regret getting the chance to...that is, I finally get to tell you..." He took a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy, you’re so smart. And so funny. And you can act like a snarky little shit sometimes, but more than anything else, you're _kind_. You're not the bigoted prat I met in Madam Malkin's, and you haven't been for a long time. I saw how much money you anonymously gave to that orphanage.” Draco flushed at this and made to pull away, but Harry kept speaking. “And when we busted the human trafficking ring, I saw how you held that Muggle girl’s hand and told her you'd never let anything bad happen to her again.”

He fixed those brilliantly green eyes on Draco. Draco wanted to fidget, to flinch away from the praise. But Harry’s gaze held him more pinned than the chains binding him to the bed.

“Every day, you do sweet and kind and selfless things,” Harry said earnestly. “You like to pretend you’re as rude and snobbish as always, but that’s just because you’re scared people will reject you if you show them how much you care. But you do care. And I care so much right back.” He planted another smacking kiss on Draco’s lips. Then he concluded, “You’re beautiful, in every way, and I want to hear you say my name when you come for the rest of my life.”

Draco was glad Harry then proceeded to lean down and snog him senseless, so Draco didn’t have any obligation to respond. He was fairly certain that, if he did speak, all that would come out would be a marriage proposal. And they hadn’t even gone on one date yet.

They had maybe done things slightly out of order.

Oh, well, he sighed as Harry finally unchained him and tangled Draco up in his arms instead. They’d make up for all that eventually. And there would be time for marriage proposals in due course, too.

Suffice it to say, he was quite glad he’d been here tonight instead of that random bloke from the club.

And he and Harry would worry about rewriting those files later.


End file.
